Monster Gauntlet (2 page)

I watched Alysh as I ate, amused and impressed by how her hands moved as she talked and how much more furious they became as she spoke about things she was passionate about.

I liked university life. I liked London. I thought about Alysh and myself. We were young and smart and good-looking (well, at least Alysh was) and our lives were just beginning. I love the line, “You don’t find yourself. You create yourself.” That was us. We had so much potential. We had bright futures ahead of us. Life was good.

That was about to change.

About a week later, Alysh and I were eating at the same café with a friend named Eric. He was strong and athletic and totally gay. His constant smile gave him away. Alysh took a sip of her drink, looked at me and said, “So, what are you doing this weekend?”

They waited for my answer like a courtroom waiting to hear a verdict. I looked from one to the other and said, “I don’t know. Why?”

Alysh smiled and the mood lightened. “Well,” she said, “You should march with us in the parade.”

“The parade?”

Eric rolled his eyes. Alysh maintained herself and said, “The Equality Parade?”

“Equality Parade?”

My friends stared at me as if I were a child trying to understand a simple concept.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I heard something about that.”

It was true. I had heard there was going to be an Equality Parade, but that was all I heard. I just wasn’t into politics like Alysh was.

“Well,” Alysh said, still smiling, “How’d you like to be in it?”

“In it?”

“That’s right! In it! I’m going to be in it. Eric is too.”

Eric nodded approvingly.

“What do you mean you’re going to be in it? Doing what?”

“Showing pride,” Eric said.

“Showing support for women’s rights,” said Alysh. “Showing strength. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” I said, wondering if my friends were crazy. “Marching for a cause is your idea of fun? Alysh, it’s dangerous.”

“Moira,” she said coldly. “This is London. We’re university students. And we’re women. It’s about equality.”

“Look,” Eric said. “Where would gay people be without marching? It takes people willing to stand together to be heard.”

I sighed and said, “OK. Tell me more about it.”

Alysh convinced me that the march wasn’t a “protest.” It was about “awareness.” The parade would be for any group that still felt they had to fight to be treated as equals. I started to sympathize.

The event was supposed to be huge. There were going to be floats and everything. It was more of a PRIDE parade than a protest, they said. It sounded like something to see. I supported the cause. I agreed to go.

“Great!” said Alysh. “You can help us hold the sign.”

–––––

The event was so big that it was both fun and frightening. The parade, or whatever it was, marched down The Mall – the long, straight, tree-lined street that goes through St. James Park and ends at Buckingham Palace. Spectators and tourists formed human walls on either side of us. Cops in standard uniforms that resembled riot gear stood guard. They were spaced out evenly like black posts in a human fence. The police presence was massive.

Everything was fine at first. The sky was blue and uncharacteristically clear. The weather was warm and everyone seemed to be in a good mood because of it. It felt like we were walking through a parted sea of humanity. The “walls” of spectators on either side of us fluttered with small flags as people waved the Union Jack.

I felt good. I was holding the corner of a banner while walking in the front of the “women’s march.” Alysh was at the other end of the sign. There were three girls holding up the middle of the banner between us.

There were several groups in the long procession. I was in the women’s group, but there were also homosexuals, atheists, and, at the other end of the spectrum (and the parade, literally), creationists. It was, after all, an equal-opportunity parade. There was even a group of people protesting Monster Gauntlet. They shouted and waved signs with words like, “Abominations!” and “Blood Sport!” and could really see their point. I found that kind of ironic, since I saw the MG logo everywhere as one of the sponsors of the parade.

I smiled. The weather was beautiful and everyone, while opinionated, was respectful, or at least of afraid of the armored police. Almost everyone was well-behaved and seemed to be having fun. That was about to change.

The problems, at least at my part of the parade, started right in front of me. I was midway down The Mall when it happened. The atheists were marching in a group ahead of ours. Some people on the sidelines started shouting at them, calling them all types of names. I heard things like, “You’re violating my religious freedom!” and “How dare you say my God isn’t real!” There were lots of fanatics shouting, “You’re going to Hell!”

 So many people were involved it was hard for the cops to identify who the troublemakers were. Then people started throwing things.

The sense of peace and the fascination I had quickly turned to terror. The atheists and members of the crowd clashed like Highland clansman on a medieval Scottish battlefield. I could see the crowd closing in up ahead like the parted Red Sea in the Bible collapsing in on the Egyptians. The atheists, gays, and Monster Gauntlet fans were attacked by the crowd fueled by religious ferocity.

People shouted behind us. The Monster Gauntlet fans greatly outnumbered the protesters, and the whole thing quickly became a free-for-all.

Then the women were attacked.

The police scurried in like an infestation of black beetles, arresting anyone they could lay their hands on, parade participant and spectator alike, just to get them off the street.

I instinctively looked for Alysh.

“Hey Blue Hair! Turn around! You’re under arrest!”

It took me a second to register that somebody might be talking to me. I turned around.

A cop stood about four meters away. She was short and thick. She stood with her legs apart as if she were practicing shooting at gun range. My eyes focused on the metal can in her hands.

“That’s right, bitch,” she said. “Get down on the ground! NOW!”

I froze. Then a blurry shape collided with the cop. The next thing I saw was a tangled human mass on the ground as the cop struggling with a random person. Knocked from her hand, her weapon skidded towards me and stopped at my feet as if fate had meant me to have it. I picked it up.

I turned to find Alysh. I spotted her signature red hair and was horrified by what I saw. A massive man (even taller than Alysh) in a police uniform seized her forearm and was attempting to twist it to bring her into submission. Tall and strong and versed in self-defense, Alysh managed to break out the man’s grip. He responded by tackling her, rugby-style. Somehow, Alysh managed to get her feet. So did the cop. Alysh turned to run. Her eyes met mine as the cop grabbed her hair. He snapped his arm as if cracking a whip. Alysh went down. I actually saw her head bounce off of the asphalt. There was a sickening sound like an egg cracking. Then the man piled on top of her.

Suddenly, I was on my way to the ground. I shouted out in surprised. I felt like I’d been hit from behind by a car. Pain pierced my side. I rolled on to my back and the woman cop mounted me. She raised her armored fist to smash it down on my face.

Remarkably, I hadn’t dropped her pepper spray in the fall. I whipped my arm up, held the can in front of her face (underneath the protective half-shield) and unloaded the spray directly into her eyes, nose, and mouth. She would have screamed if sound could have come out of her mouth. Her body slumped off mine. She writhed and rolled around in pain. Remarkably still willing to fight, she drew her yellow plastic Taser pistol with a shaking hand.

As she raised it, I stepped aside and sprayed the rest of the spray in her face. Then I dropped the can and twisted the Taser out of her hand.

I turned to find Alysh. Then I saw him - the man who had attacked her. Even in the armor, the cop was recognizable, like some type of giant. He looked at me and I could see the hate in his eyes. This riot had triggered something in him, in all the cops, and in the crowd. He started coming towards me. He raised a club over his head. I could make out some debris on it, a combination of blood and human hair.

“You!” he shouted. “You’re ...”

The Taser darts hit him squarely in the chest. He started shaking uncontrollably. The bloody club fell from his fist. He dropped to his knees and fell to the ground like a tall tree crashing down in forest.

I can’t really say what possessed me to do what I did next. Maybe it was the sight of all the violence. Maybe it was the fear that he would recover and come after me. Like the woman cop, I was sure he would fight to the end. He would fight to win and never give up. That was his job, and his authority had removed any fear of consequences. Mostly, I was thinking of Alysh. I didn’t see her, but I thought I saw blood on the spot where she had been.

That was the trigger. It was like I was on autopilot. This whole situation felt like a nightmare that wasn’t really happening, so while the thug cop was lying on the ground, convulsing, I swung my foot back and then forward, kicking him in the teeth. I actually felt my foot crunch through as it crashed deeper into his mouth.

I stood there, looking at what I’d done with a strange combination of horror, awe, and satisfaction. Suddenly, the street beneath my feet seemed to be an upright wall I was leaning against. White light flashed in front of my eyes as if someone had taken a photo of my face. The whole world turned sideways, and my vision and consciousness went black.

 I woke up in jail, of course, even though I don’t remember being arrested. I was on a hard hospital bed, handcuffed to the rail. The right side of my face was fractured. It had the color and tenderness of a purple plum.

I was not allowed a phone call or counsel because of the “special circumstances of my crimes.”

My face slowly turned pink and then back to normal as I waited for weeks for sentencing. But instead of going to court, I was then taken to another prison at a secret location. I was blindfolded so I never saw the outside of the building or where it was. All I could see out the window were patches of cloudy skies and frequent rain, which told me I was still in England.

Several times a day, I was allowed to go to a small, paved, inner courtyard. The courtyard was surrounded on four sides by high walls with small windows. I really enjoyed my time in the courtyard. I liked looking up at the patch of open sky above it.

Walking was good. It was healthy and it was free. It also was the prison’s answer to almost everything. Depressed? Walk. Stressed? Walk. That exercise worked remarkably well for those ailments. Internal bleeding? Not so much.

I didn’t know anything about what was going on in the world anymore. My access to information was severely limited. I wasn’t allowed visitors. That included my parents.

One day, guards came and demanded I put my hands through the slot in the door. They cuffed me while there was still a closed door between us.

Oh great, I thought. Another inspection.

But it wasn’t another inspection. I had a visitor.

I was led to room. Inside were two simple chairs and a metal table. A good-looking man in a suit stood next to the table. When he saw me, he smiled and extended his hand. I looked at him suspiciously, and then at the guard. The guard remained expressionless. Apparently, extending my arms and touching the man’s hand was allowed. We shook hands.

“Moira MacMillan. Please, sit.”

He gestured towards one of the metal chairs. I looked at it and guard shoved me towards it. I sat.

The chair must have been aluminum. It was light-weight and I slightly cringed at the hollow sound it made as it dragged across the floor.

“Ms. MacMillan, may I call you Moira? My name is Sterling. MI5.”

MI5 – The Security Service. Great.

“OK,” I said, wondering what this was all about.

“Moira, do you know why I’m here?”

“I have no idea,” I said truthfully.

“How much do you know about what’s been going on in the world lately?”

“Nothing, really. Why?”

Sterling looked serious. He collected himself like he was about to give a prepared speech.

“Moira, I’m here because I need your help. After the incident in St. James Park, there were ... problems.”

“Problems?

Sterling cleared his throat and said, “Riots. People attacking police. People distrusting their own government. People burning cars, as if this country were France or something. Disgraceful.”

“What do you want from me?”

“We want you to go on national television, apologize, and issue a statement calling for peace.”

What? I asked the obvious question. “Why me?”

Sterling shifted in his chair and his eyes glanced away from mine. Then he sighed and said, “Everything you do in public is recorded these days. Any time you’re in public, you’re on camera. That’s true anywhere, but especially here in England. Let’s just say you were ... recognizable in footage from the riot.”

Recognizable? What did that mean? I must have been “recognizable” from my blue hair. But why would anyone care?

Then it hit me. Because I fought the cops.

People must have been shocked by the police brutality. My fighting back must have gotten attention. Did it spark riots?

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Sterling said sternly like a teacher talking to a child.

“No.” Again I asked, “Why me?”

Sterling sighed and said, “Because people want to hear from you. You have a certain amount of ... attention ... now. People will listen to you. You can call for peace.”

“Call for peace. That’s it?”

“Yes,” Sterling said. “Apologize and call for peace.” He smiled like an insincere salesman.

“Apologize? Call for peace? Why would I want to do that?”

Sterling’s face fell. He smacked his hand loudly on the metal table. It startled me badly. In my fantasy-inspired mind, I saw him as a real-life werewolf. His human disguise was splitting, and I was starting to see the beast underneath.